


Homeward Bound

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-02-15
Updated: 2001-02-15
Packaged: 2018-11-20 05:02:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11329134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Langly makes a mistake and pays for it.





	Homeward Bound

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Homeward Bound by Alison

Homeward Bound  
by Alison  
Feedback: Yes please, to   
Disclaimer: Not mine  
Rating: NC-17 for m/m relationship  
Category: Slash, Langly/other, Langly pov  
Spoilers: None  
Archive: Ephemeral, Gossamer, Unusual Suspects, Basement, anywhere else just ask  
Summary: Langly makes a mistake and pays for it.  
Note: The title's from the Simon & Garfunkel song, of course.

* * *

I've only got myself to blame.

If I'd decided to fly to Tallahassee like John wanted me to . . . if I'd kept on driving when the rain came on . . if I'd stopped anywhere else except this little motel-and-diner near Charlotte, North Carolina . . . if I'd had the sense to lead with my brain instead of my balls when I see a cute ass waggled in front of my face . . . then I wouldn't be in this mess, sitting here feeling like shit and scared about how I'm going to face John.

How it started was like this. An old college friend of mine got back in touch, a guy I hadn't seen for fifteen years, he'd heard about us and what we were doing, and called to see if I was the same R Langly he'd known in college? He was working in Tallahassee, Florida and wanted me to go see him. He'd got interested in political conspiracies after what happened during the election down there and thought he might be able to help us. So I went down there, and god knows why but I decided to drive instead of flying. I've always liked driving, the open road and all that crap. Put it down to reading too much Jack Kerouac at an impressionable age.

So anyway I went down there and ended up staying longer than I'd intended, once I'd got over the shock of seeing Phil. He'd moved on, moved up and sold out. Come a pretty long way from the Harley-riding hellraiser with the endless capacity for beer and the bottomless stash in the back pocket. He was teaching economics at the local college for godsake, with a cute little wife and a nice little house just off the college campus with a pool in the backyard. Made me uneasy to see him I guess. He was still recognisably the same guy, same old Phil, but so different. Older. The same age as me . . . I realised how much time had passed. He made *me* feel old. Made me think about what I might have had, if I'd gone down the same road.

Anyway I made some useful contacts and spread the word among some of Phil's friends, but it was also something like the first vacation I'd had for a pretty long time. Warm sun down there while it was still snowing in Washington, and we spent a lot of time just hanging out by his pool and chewing over old times, and it would have been perfect if John had been there too. Phil asked me one time, late one evening over a few beers when his lady had gone to bed, why I wasn't married, if there was a chick back in Washington - and I gave him my usual standard answer about not wanting to be tied down in this line of work. But later that night I lay awake a long time trying to work out why I felt so bad about having to lie like that. Why I didn't tell him about me and John.

John and me talked on the phone every night, but it was the longest we'd ever been apart and I missed him more than I'd thought possible. Missed just having him around during the day, the way he'll look up and smile at me across the room for no reason, the way he'll touch me, just a brush of the hand across my shoulder or my arm whenever I come within reach. The quick affectionate kisses in passing whenever there's no-one else around.

So after a week I told Phil I had to get back, and left early yesterday. I figured maybe if I drove all day and all through the night with just a couple of short rest stops I could be home and back with John not too late the next day. I've done that sort of drive before, and by then I was aching to see him again. Being with Phil and his wife, seeing them together had made me realise how lonely I would be without John. How much he has become a part of me, and me of him.

Driving north from Florida the weather got worse, colder with every hour and overcast. Mid afternoon it started to rain, and the further I went the heavier it got. It got darker and darker, rain lashing against the windshield, and I was getting tired trying to concentrate just keeping the car on the road. So I started to look for a motel, and checked into a place just over the North Carolina state line. It looked okay and the room was clean, and there was a diner right next door, so I had a shower and cleaned up and went to get some dinner.

I really only noticed the kid when we were the only two people left in the diner. He was sitting across the aisle, with just a large cup of Coke in front of him. Twentysomething, slim, shorter than me, short black hair and brown eyes. Kinda cute, yes, and a couple years ago I might have made the first move myself. And every time I looked in his direction those eyes were looking at me.

It's been a long time since I picked anyone up, or got picked up myself, so I guess I was kinda slow on the uptake. At first I just figured him for a hitchhiker, one more hungry kid on the road, maybe hoping for a ride or a free handout, until the next time I glanced over and he met my eyes again over the cup of coke, smiled and his tongue came out to moisten his lower lip. Next thing I knew he was on his feet, coming towards me, hands in his pockets and tightening his jeans just where it did most good. This time he *did't* look at me, loping past me towards the cash desk and I heard him ask the girl for change for the phone. I sensed more than heard him coming back towards me, past me again, then, so casually, two paces past me he dropped his change all over the floor and bent to pick it up. And that nice, tight little backside was almost in my face, and his teeshirt riding up exposing his tanned back and I could see halfway down his ass.

I watched him saunter across to the payphone and make his call, his back to me, shifting his weight from hip to hip. Then he turned his head and caught me looking at him and he grinned again over his shoulder. Turned fully round, leaning against the wall, staring straight at me and I couldn't drag my eyes away, especially when he pushed his hand in his jeans pocket and began to rub his groin.

So okay, this is where *new* Ringo, sensible, loyal committed Ringo of the last two years with his lover back in Washington, should have paid the check and got out, gone back down the road the the motel alone. Did I? Did I hell.

He straightened up and started towards me, his eyes never leaving mine and a faint smirk on his face. I know that expression so well; I've used it enough times myself. It could only have been a few seconds, a few paces at most, but it felt like that tired old TV cliche, everything happening in slow motion except the speeded up tempo of my heart and breathing. My cock was straining against my zipper and it felt like it was hot wired to my face; I must have been as red as a beet. He stopped close enough to touch. That tongue came out again, running across his top lip. He broke eye contact, looked hesitant for the first time; then looked back at me.

He slipped into the seat across the table from me. "Mind if I sit down?" With all the other empty seats to choose from . . . well I already knew he was nothing if not direct. He put his hands on the table inches from mine. "I have a problem."

You and me both, kid, and if it wasn't for the table between us you could see the extent of mine. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah . . . I'm on my way to Florida -"

"Sorry, I just came from there." My last feeble attempt at getting out of this before I was in too deep.

"No, no, I don't need a ride . . I need a place to stay for the night. I was wondering, I saw you come from the motel down the street and I thought, maybe . . . uh, I haven't got enough cash for a room, but if you'd let me sleep on the floor . . . or . . .."

Okay kid, we both know you don't want to sleep on the floor. But what do *I* want? Little Ringo down there is making it quite clear what *he* wants, and he's rapidly winning out over the few brain cells I have still operating. In the back of my mind logic and sense is screaming that this would be a really bad idea, what about John, can't you wait another 24 hours, how could you do this to him; but my body has different ideas. The dull ache that has been growing for the last few days without John is rapidly becoming un-ignorable; John is 500 miles away in Washington and I want him, need him, need him, need *something* now.

"Yeah." It doesn't sound like my voice; it doesn't feel like I'm in control of my body anymore as I get up and go to pay my check. My legs don't seem to belong to me and my head feels like it's floating. He's right behind me, silent, as I walk across the parking lot and down the walkway to my room.

**************************************

I swear I was still trying to think of an excuse to back out, right up to the point when I closed the door of the room behind us. But before I could even switch on the light he was plastered up against me, pushing me back against the door, his hot body pressed to mine. I opened my mouth to say something, to tell him this wasn't gonna work, but before I could take a breath his mouth was on mine, tongue flicking into the corner of my mouth, giving my a tiny unexpected little jolt which went straight to my cock and my last vestige of self control went out the window.

He was all over me like a snake, licking my neck, biting my ear at the same time as his hands roved up under my tee shirt and rubbed over my nipples. I yelped and jerked and he laughed softly, pulling me towards the bed and down beside him. He tugged my teeshirt over my head as I squirmed out of my jeans and boxers and then did the same to him. He was smaller than me, smaller than John, slim but hard, tanned with a smooth bare chest with dark brown nipples. I ran my hands over his chest and he grunted, rolling on top of me and grinding his hips over my cock. I grabbed his ass and pulled him tighter against me, rolling us over so I was back on top. He didn't feel like John; didn't taste or smell like him; somehow that made the whole act bearable.

He pulled my head down and breathed hot against my neck. "Gonna fuck me?" I pulled myself off him for a moment and reached for my jeans, fumbling in the pocket for the lube and a condom. He ripped the packet open and hunkered down again over my hips, giving me a quick stroke that made me grunt and twitch before he quickly unrolled the condom over my cock. I was ready, throbbing, hot and hard, and I needed to be inside him. Instinctively I made the decision that I wasn't going to fuck him face to face; I rolled him over and tugged him onto his knees, and he spread his legs wide for me.

Somewhere in the back of my head my conscience was still screaming that this was wrong, but it was too late to stop even if I had wanted to. He was hot and ready, wide open for me and panting "Yes . . .". I shut my eyes and shoved inside. Pushed into him hard and smooth and deep, wrapping one arm round him to stroke his cock in time with my thrusts. He was tight and hot, and as I found my rhythm and the pressure began to build, he reached out a hand and braced himself against the headboard, pushing back into my thrusts and driving me deeper and deeper inside him. He was muttering "oh yeah, oh man, oh fuck. . . more, man, oh fuck, harder . . . I was losing control, thrusting into him fiercely, savagely, angrily taking everying I could. Anger at him; at myself and even, crazily, for John for *not* being him.

I felt him tense under me, his head coming back and his whole body stiffening and he clenched tight round me, screaming once, short and high, as he came and his semen spurted over my hands, over the sheets and the bedhead, his body spasming back against me one final time so hard that I felt I was buried right in his guts. I pulled out nearly all the way and then rammed back in harder than ever, spending the last of my anger and my need in one final hard thrust till at last the blinding white heat of orgasm overcame me.

Some time later I was aware of him again, shifting slightly from out under me to get more comfortable and then subsiding again, still partly pinned down by my body. I put my arm over him but he wasn't going anywhere; I guess he had earned his bed for the night. Sleepily I told myself that I ought to buy him breakfast in the morning and see he was okay. The last thing I thought before I went to sleep was that I didn't even know his name.

***********************************

And of course I never did find out his name.

I guess you're way ahead of me by now. Yeah, when I woke up this morning he was gone. And so was my watch. And my wallet.

I knew almost before I opened my eyes, the way you can tell if you're alone or not. A few seconds passed before I realised where I was and remembered what had happened; I even called out something just in case he was in the bathroom, before it hit me that he had gone. Even so it took a couple of minutes longer before I realised he'd taken my stuff and the sick panic started gnawing at my stomach. I grabbed my clothes and got into them in record time, teeshirt on back to front, and ran out leaving the door open. The car was still there, thankyouJesus . . . keys, keys . . . yes, the car keys were still there in the pocket of my jeans, along with my set of keys to the HQ. Godalmighty, if I'd lost those the guys would have had my ass.

I sprinted across the car park, heart thumping until I saw it was okay. Opened the trunk of the car, hands clumsy with the keys. The laptop was still there, and my jacket with the cellphone and credit cards in the pocket. One piece of luck, if you could call it that, that I left them all in the car last night.

The boy was long gone of course. No-one in the diner had seen him, but one of the waitresses said there was an early southbound Greyhound bus that stopped right outside at 6 am. So I guess my cash and all the other stuff is half way to Miami by now.

So I come back here to the motel room, sit down on the bed and tip everything out of my overnight bag, and count up what I've lost. It looks like he just grabbed what he could see and took off, but that's bad enough.

One Italian black leather wallet . . . John gave it to me, the Christmas before we got together, when that old green nylon one that I'd had for years, finally fell apart. I've often wished, since, that I'd kept it - I had it the day I met him.

So, one Italian black leather wallet containing:

\- one hundred and seventy dollars cash;

\- one photograph of my lover . . . that one I took just before we got together, of John at the top of the Washington Monument, the sun on his face, his hair all blown about by the wind, smiling into the camera and looking for once so young, so free, relaxed . . . the John I've only since then come to know shining out of the picture, innocent, trusting, so beautiful that I don't know how I kept my hands off him that day. After we were together, with no secrets any more, and I told him how I had felt about him for so long, he signed that picture for me on the back and I've kept it with me always. "Ringo - you'll never be lonely again. Love, John."

\- one match book cover from the Atlantic Beach Hotel, Ocean City. Kinda weird souvenir, okay, but that was where we went the first time we went away together as a couple, just a long weekend by the sea, and of course we hardly left the hotel room even to eat, and whenever I take it out and look at it I'm back in that room with John curled against me, lying late in the night with him sleeping in my arms, hearing the noise of the long Atlantic surf on the beach and smelling the salt sea breeze blowing in the window and mingling with the scent of sex.

My watch has gone as well. And John gave me that too, to celebate our first anniversary. "R forever J" is inscribed on the back. I was surprised, and I must have shown it, but he just said quietly that he liked giving me things, that he wanted to. And later he put his arms round me and said that he thought it was a long time since anyone took care of me and gave me presents, and he was going to make sure things changed from then on. I couldn't speak, I was so amazed that he could understand me the way no-one had for so long. I just clung to him, shaking with emotion and with love for him. He seemed to understand even that, and just held me and stroked me until I calmed down, and then took me to bed and made love to me until it seemed like we weren't two people any more, but only one.

And thinking about that . . . about John . . . I'm only now beginning to realise what else I've lost.

Not the money or the wallet or the watch or even the photo. It's what they represent. John and me. What we have. What we *had*. What I've lost. Something more valuable that any amount of money or possessions. My self respect is only part of it.

I've realised I can never feel the same again about John and me. It can never be perfect as it was before, at least not for me. I'll always remember that I betrayed him. Betrayed myself as well.

The only person who's been hurt in all this is me. And I did it to myself. I can't ever tell John, it would only hurt him. I have to carry this alone.

Things can be replaced, but trust once broken can never be quite the same again. Even if I never tell John, *I* will always remember. Remember that I forgot him, forgot that I love him and that he loves me, all for a quick fuck in a motel room with a boy off the street.

It's something I'll have to come to terms with, on the lonely road home.

END


End file.
